


Keeping Watch

by mmmdraco



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:12:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmdraco/pseuds/mmmdraco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things they take turns at, and others they do together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Watch

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own the characters, I mean no harm, I have no money... Stuff like that. Yeah.

There are small chunks of mobile suit which float in space like a split-second image of a snowstorm. It's appropriate as it is wartime at the same time that it is Christmastime. 

Trowa is sleeping on the bed we've been sharing. There's only one, so when one of us is piloting or keeping watch, the other is trying to sleep, and tangling the bedsheets. The covers are mussed beyond belief, and it is easy to believe that the bed we share, but do not use together and do not own, is a warzone itself. It has the prerequisite blood, sweat and tears covered. I am not sure what is mine and what is his, only that I must keep going. 

I sit here, in the pilot's chair, and think about the war. I've killed a lot of people, and I haven't really felt remose. I don't suppose I was ever encouraged to do so. Pity, remorse, sadness: they are the feelings that "good" soldiers search to rid themselves of, while I search to find them. Even my enemies deserve my tears, but I can only cry them as I sleep. 

I have seen my fellow pilots break down and shed tears and bare their souls for some sort of spiritual cleansing done in a manner that I have never been introduced to, though I have observed the process often enough. However, this isn't a treatment I can make an appointment for, and it seems sort of silly to ask for help on something like this, especially since I am supposed to be capable of all things. 

When I watch Trowa cry as he sleeps when I take a step in to check on him, I see the shock of relief on his face. He realizes what he's done, and he knows that nothing he can do now can change what he had once done. It took me far longer than him to come to that conclusion. According to Trowa, I even try to stop my tears as I sleep, when I can't truly control my actions. I feel... funny... knowing that he watches me as I watch him, especially when I am not sure of the innocence of my own cations. 

Before I can even comprehend my last though, I am on my feet with a gun trained on the door. Trowa stands there, in his underwear, scratching his head and yawning. He is used to this behavior. "Your turn," he says as he meanders into the room. 

"I could have shot you, you know," I say to him as I return my gun to it's spot in the waistband of my shorts. 

He shakes his head. "Not you. Any of the others, but not you. You actually look to see who you're shooting before you shoot them. I feel safe around you, even when you're skittish and have a gun. I don't even trust Quatre like that when I spend time with him." 

A burst of something, jealousy?, ignites the beginnings of questions in my mind which will remain unanswered. 

"How much longer?" he asks. 

I check a few readings. "Another five hours. Wake me up *before* you try to land this thing. L1 has some tricky codewords which you *need* to know in order to avoid being shot down." 

"Why couldn't you just tell me?" His voice is soft. 

"You might accidentally leak the information. I don't want to have to kill you." Some dust has floated into my eyes. It must have. They sting. 

"Heero..." he walks toward me and I am suddenly a doll in his arms. My legs have given out on me and trails of wet warmth are making their way down my face and into my mouth and off of my chin, onto my shirt. I am crying. I feel something, and it hurts me, but it isn't physical. Is this sadness? 

My tears suddenly feel cool as I feel a touch of true warmth to my cheekbone. Trowa has halted my tears with a touch of his lips. They suddenly move to my other cheekbone, and then they are on my lips. I regain some element of my composure, but lean against him still. "Thank you," I say, for I am unsure about the proper way to comment. But, maybe he understands some of my unsaid things. He certainly seems to do so. 

"Go. Get some sleep. I'll wake you in a bit. Good night." 

I cannot help but ask, "*Is* it night?" 

He smiles, and my heart beats an extra time. "If it isn't, it's close enough. Sleep." 

When I wake, he was standing there, still smiling. "You didn't cry this time. Instead, you seemed at peace."


End file.
